Image result for sad girl looking out car window
Penelope is sitting in the backseat of the car with her stepfather driving and her mom riding shotgun. She looks down at her thighs, wider than she’d like them to be. The after taste of the burger she just ate still very prominent in her mouth. A reminder. She licks her lips debating whether the taste is sweet like the burger or bitter like the sight of her thighs spilling across the car seat. Penelope is eighteen. Looking out the window, she thinks about her first semester of college and how well it went. She counts all the friends she didn’t make. Loses count. Very careful not to put herself down, she considers the fact that it’s only been one semester and that she is going at a good pace. She doesn’t think about all the internships she hasn’t applied for, all the bills she never pays, and all the adult things she should be doing but isn’t. Penelope pushes aside the thought that she can’t cook. Penelope does not feel like an adult. No. She feels like a child with adult wants and child needs. Suffocating her peace, she can feel all the expectations eating at her like a family of termites. They’re silent to her ears, but looking out the window she can feel the sun and the rays of responsibilities she hasn’t come across and is terrified to acquaint.

Incessant Insatiability

There’s brilliance in this, I think.

And even if there isn’t I would still feel as if there were.  Look, I know you’ve read epic love stories and seen quirky and endearing romantic comedies but I can assure you you’ve never heard this one before. Inevitably, my story is unique and new because this is my first time sharing it. There’s value in that-the personal narrative. I think.

Dear, Tom

Every time I try to write about you I get stuck. Like all the eloquence and voice gets sucked out of me by an evil, government issued vacuum. But I have this huge ass lump in my heart, filled with feelings and words and colors and fragrances and nostalgia. I can’t stop the sensation and I want more than anything for it to manifest itself into words but it just won’t budge. I could totally just say it like, “Hmm yeah he’s nice and uh…you know really attractive, smart, witty, considerate, and sexy.” Ha-ha. I don’t think so. It doesn’t do these feelings justice…nothing could though, to be fair. Nothing is sufficient. No words could envelope all my love. Sometimes I still try though and it comes out like:

He’s there, like a…
Like what?
A model, a statue, a man, a weapon
I’m not sure yet

Because he could very well be all four
As his eyelashes begin to weigh his eyelids down,
I can see clearly that he is part man, part angel.
With all the strength of his body pressing down on me
His anatomical masculinity is evident
But the way his eyes flutter back in forth in his slumber is nothing short of ethereal

Could the man be just a man or
Could this sigh be just an exhale
Or a restriction in my heart
A skipped beat
A forgotten pump
I still don’t know how to tell the difference
Between an infatuated mind and an
Intoxicated heart

But laying there…with all inhibitions crawling
Out of me
Like escaped con men,
I feel wholly complacent in my vulnerability

Oh yeah. Shitty poems are all I can do for you. Vague comments about how much I love your presence and your existence. A couple of confessional verses about admiration. Fuck, really? WOW. I’ll never be happy with anything I write about you so I”ll just write about how nothing I write is worthy I guess? Tell me, is that notion romantic or just a reflection of how self-conscious I am about my writing? Maybe I should write in stream of consciousness…. So I don’t have time to think about grammar or voice or structure. Okay here goes nothing. Damn it I even tried to prep for the stream of consciousness portion.


The truth is you fucking terrify me, yet make me feel so safe at the same time. I love your goofy face. I love how soft your chin is when you just shaved and I love the way your scruff feels against my face when we kiss. Then there’s your hair- it’s the epitome of collateral beauty. Countless nights of staying up studying and all of the angst of a college student all  amount to that beautifully disheveled hair of yours. Then there’s the neck thing of course because you know about my neck fetish and you’re neck is the most perfect. My goodness. How can I even begin to describe to you how I feel about your lips and eyes? To be completely honest it makes me really emotional Tom. I can feel myself falling and we only just met two months ago and I feel like you’ve completely changed me for the better and

Your eyes.

How do I not make this cheesy. Does it even matter? I love the way you look at me. I love the way you’ll glance over at me across the room when we’re at Corey’s, just to let me know you haven’t forgotten about me even though you’re usually completely engulfed in some random show the guys put on. I love the way you look at my body not like I’m an object to touch but like a world to explore. I know that’s not what’s going through your mind obviously but that’s the way it feels on the receiving end. I remember when we first met and started kissing I was so afraid that we would never be anything else but then something inside of me just didn’t care anymore. I thought that it didn’t really matter what we were or what we would become I was just really happy to be cuddling on that couch with you.

And it really makes me emotional realizing that at nineteen years old I am in love with you and everything outside of me tells me that one day I’m going to lose you. Then again they all tell me just have to enjoy the ride anyway even if it all goes to shit in the end. But Tom, I love you so much I just want it to stay this way. Eternal honeymoon. The only thing I can do to conserve this is to write about it so that I’ll always have this part of us.